The Boy and The Coconut Tree

The story of a man doing a deal with the devil to improve his life, or gain knowledge, or seek revenge on his enemies is an old one, told in different versions over many cultures.  I had read about Dr Faustus , the Christopher Marlow play, at school or maybe not (my school wasn't big on culture) and had a memory of it and thought the idea was an interesting one.  Last week I was given the opportunity to see it on the stage in London with a colleague and performed by the RSC so it had to be good, right? The Barbican itself is a strange mix of people, the audience can range from little old ladies sipping tea in the cafes to hipsters admiring the ugly buildings and people pretending to understand the more obtuse art installations (I never try to understand them). The audience for the play was a mix and of course the person sitting in front of me was the tallest human in the place, he had to be 8ft tall but most of it seemed to be leg so I could easily see over him. Sat two rows from

Only two weeks ago I was   writing about my romantic disasters , my romantic future and how my time on the shelf had become the norm for me, rather than an occasional experience. I revisited my past recently, very recently. The past weekend in Manchester. Over the past 10 months I had been in contact with an old flame, someone I met a long long time ago, 20 years or so and though the contact was benign and felt nice, it culminated in a reunion of sorts this past weekend. Awkward at first, it is amazing the power of alcohol has on awkwardness and a sense of shyness.  Two people, who were together for little under 2 years, broke up 21 years ago and ended up in bed again. I don't recall who initiated it, it doesn't matter, it felt nice and human nature leads us to doing things that feel nice, we forget the down side to doing things that open us up to hurt. The lesson is, scabs heal, and they may leave scars, small ones, but scars all the same. I have admitted on this blog ma

The title of this post comes from a song, one of my favourites, sung by The Three Degrees and I will post it here as it is light, up beat and fun: The title of the blog arises from my turning back on the dating game. I have been single for most of the last 11 years, yes 11 years. I have had sprinkles of romance in those 11 years, a few months here and there, especially in Spain and a bit here in London but I have simply lost the will to throw myself to the wolves.  As a gay man your age is important, then take your physique.  You are always at your most desirable from 18-30, especially 18-25 (your popularity peaks as does your willingness to be promiscuous), then you expect your 30s to be calmer, settled, maybe finding Mister Right (he doesn't exist, not for me you or any one, we put people on pedestals and they fall).  My decline in dating took place from my late 30s. In my 20s and 30s I could reasonably expect to meet someone new and interesting every month if not more.